The caliginous space seemed scary at first. Misty and cloudy enough to create a sense of curiosity and adventure. But also, an opaqueness that caused me to feel around in the dark for a tether. It was new, this path. Gravel at first poking through the soles of my experience. Thorny shrubbery scratching with their abrasive reach. Strong enough to be a blatant reminder that I was walking in unfamiliar territory. Hushed and quiet for moments to lure and lull. Then bustling with leviathan and mammoth- rising from the deep. The slosh of the impending splash, rising with every step.
My eagerness was swallowed temporarily by tumultuous chaos. Swirling and undulating like the heartbeat of a large sea monster. Those insecurities of change and expectation: They lurk, they hunt, they devour. Tentacles binding. But great divers, they come prepared. Full tank, tight mask, sleek suit of protection. They venture into open waters where the space, location, and scenery are familiar, yet not. This new territory, unforgiving yet somehow welcoming. It is stitched into our fabric- like algae covering the surface. Taking in the sun for nourishment, all the while, creating a caliginous layer of twilight. Both magnificent and desolate.
This is my high seas. I have laid anchor here. The deck inundated with the waves. The salty brine tickling my nose. I, a teacher do not surrender to its impatience- I take my stance. I know the crest will come and the swells will jostle me about the current. It always does, this navigational drama. Yet, through the upsurge I go. At times my ship takes on water, it feels as if it will capsize. The vibrations of twirl and twist can be discombobulating, up is down and right is left. Corkscrew and curl knock me down. But I catch my breath, I manage to steer clear of the rocky peninsula.
Sometimes landfall is to be avoided because the tricks of the trade are found far from shore. The comfort of the solid can obscure the imbalance, and from this billow and breaker of hesitancy and doubt, comes creativity and endurance. From this ridge and heave and foamy view- comes those moments of settling in, building resilience and strengthening confidence. I know this better than anyone. My dyslexia and autism the leviathan and mammoth that swim around me. They both navigate me into the storm and away from it. I keep them lower case, blended into my nature.
The tidal spirits of my personality. They are indelible. Stirring up every demon that I have ever encountered and empowering me to track them- never attack them or endanger them, emboldening me to feed them, nurture them, welcome them to rise from the depths and splash me with insecurity. Because this tsunami of fear has trained me to be a great swimmer. A cautious yet brave diver. A problem-solver. But, these leviathan and mammoths also tire me. They drift me to a safe haven far from prying eyes. An island of refuge. My isolation brings me comfort. I can lie in the sun and rejuvenate. I can seek the mist and shadows. I can find strategies to cope and strive.
Teaching is all of these things. Deep sea, with scary creatures and a darkness heavy and sullen. Open seas, bouncing and jostling awake within you such a beautiful frame of mind to remind you why you chose this journey. The shallow shorelines where you are protected from predators and feel safe to tiptoe into the sandy muck. But it is also the high seas, too vast to traverse alone. Yet, we hunker down on our ships, built from experience and wonder- and we try. Every day we try. This is why we reach out to other fellow oceanographers, cartographers and even yes, pirates. Because we know the knowledge gained will be the anchor.
These past months I have had many a changes in my professional career. I have changed from being a middle school teacher to a high school teacher. I moved from a classroom surrounded by visitors and friends to a hallway of strangers. Brief conversations but still closed doors. I am teaching new science topics, learning new things everyday- which I love. I am a mentor to another teacher. I am a peer mentor to students. I am raising my anchor so that I can maneuver into new unchartered waters. And as exciting as the unknown is- my leviathan and mammoths are heavy. They are never too far off the stern.
I am a word smith, writer, scribbler of prose- yet for months I have had nothing to say. I have not written a word for months. Yet, this caliginous morning- rainy and windy with a hint of crackly energy- I found my voice. Both poetic as always but with a hint of reporter. I, a journalist of sorts, seafarer and navigator. With a briny disposition. But more an orator of the mystical and magical use of words. I tend to write with imagery rather than realism. This is because this is how my dyslexia and autism report the world to me. My mind not one of literal but of the whimsical.
So this takes me back to the premise of this blog- the deep leviathan, the often overwhelming, isolating, stressful world of education. It can feel as if we are floating in the tumultuous open seas, sea creatures nipping from the dark. It can feel like we have sunk to the dark depths of the ocean- angler fish our only source of luminescence- and these angler fish have sharp teeth. It can feel as if we are trying to steer our ship, jostling and surging in the storm full circle back into the chaos- and we are. Because we are captain and divers. Navigators and swimmers. We swim. We dive. We map out our route to calm seas. But as we are going through the tsunami- we sometimes lose sight of the rebirth that happens once we make it through.
I have been in school for three weeks. Six classes- 4 completely different topics in science. We call them flavors. It takes a lot of planning, implementing and patience. It takes a lot of diving, swimming and navigating. But, I have a sturdy bow. As I look over into the murky waves, I see my leviathan and mammoth sea creatures: tails rising and disappearing, bodies rolling and diving and I feel comfort in knowing they are there. They, the resilience, endurance and faith I have in my skill set to weather the anxiety and joy of what I do. I hope my voice has risen from the depths and has returned. For months a silent mermaid now an aquatic scribe.
I hope you find your voice, your leviathan and mammoth sea monsters to keep you a float and in the center of the storm to come. For education is a storm even on the best of days. It is a beautiful, fulfilling and arduous place to find yourself in. It is exciting and remarkable but also exhausting, frustrating and down right scary like the ocean itself. Just remember to look up once in awhile and notice the mist, the cloudy yet spectacular caliginous skies of teaching. Stay buoyant my friends and have a great school year.
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